Chapter1
Beth
Ispent the entire day baking cookies, and I had no regrets. I stood in my kitchen, the warm scent of vanilla and cinnamon wrapping around me like a cozy blanket. My fingers were still dusted with flour as I pulled the last tray of cookies from the oven. They were perfect—golden brown with just a hint of crisp around the edges.
As I set the tray down to cool, the aroma intensified, filling every corner of my little café. The cookies had those delicate cracks on top that promised a soft, chewy center. Chocolate chips glistened in the dim light, their sweetness mingling with the earthy scent of nutmeg and ginger.
"Ellie is going to love these," I murmured to myself, smiling at the thought of her bright face when she tasted them.
Then it hit me.
"Ellie!" I gasped, my heart dropping into my stomach. I had promised her I'd deliver these pastries to the holiday market... thirty minutes ago.
Panic surged through me. I rushed to grab a cooling rack and carefully transferred each cookie onto it. They needed just a few more minutes to set.
"Come on, come on," I muttered, glancing at the clock on the wall. It ticked away mercilessly, each second reminding me how late I was.
I started packing up other baked goods—sugar-dusted scones, gingerbread men with tiny candy buttons, and spiced apple muffins that still steamed when you broke them open. My hands moved swiftly, almost on autopilot from years of practice. But my mind raced with worry about keeping Ellie waiting.
The door jingled open, and I turned to see Mr. Thompson from next door peek in.
"Beth! The smell in here is heavenly!" He took a deep breath as if he could inhale the cookies straight off the cooling rack.
"Thanks, Mr. Thompson! I'm actually running late," I said, shoving a tray of pastries into a basket lined with festive red cloth.
"Need a hand?" he offered, stepping closer.
"No time! But thank you!" I flashed him an apologetic smile before turning back to my task.
The cookies had cooled enough. I scooped them up gently and added them to the basket. My heart thumped loudly in my chest as I finally dashed toward the door, praying Ellie wouldn't be too mad at me for being late again.
I hurried through the café, weaving around tables and chairs with practiced ease. Soft, amber lights hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow that made everything look cozy. The walls were adorned with eclectic art pieces and photographs, each telling its own story. In one corner, an old upright piano sat waiting for the next live music night, its keys worn from years of use.
The tables were mismatched but charming, each one covered in a different holiday-themed tablecloth. Tiny Christmas trees adorned with twinkling fairy lights stood on each table, their glow reflecting off the polished wooden surfaces. A few patrons lingered, sipping on their holiday-themed drinks. One couple sat by the window, their hands entwined as they shared a peppermint mocha.
I felt a pang of pride as I glanced around. This café was my sanctuary, my little slice of happiness in the world. But today, it also felt like a ticking time bomb reminding me how late I was.
As I passed the counter, I noticed the chalkboard menu where I had painstakingly written out today’s specials in curly handwriting. Gingerbread lattes, spiced hot chocolate, and cranberry scones—all favorites among our regulars. My gaze landed on the glass display case filled with pastries and desserts. The sight of my creations always gave me a sense of accomplishment.
"Beth! You’re in a rush today," called out Lily, one of my regulars who sat at her usual spot near the counter.
"Running late for Ellie," I replied with a quick smile.
Lily chuckled and took a sip of her eggnog latte. "You’re always late for something."
I couldn’t help but laugh despite my stress. "Story of my life."
I pushed open the door to the back alley where my car was parked. The cold air hit me like a slap to the face, making me shiver despite my thick coat. The basket of goodies felt heavier in my hands as I hurried toward my car.
I fumbled with my keys for a moment before finally unlocking the door and sliding into the driver’s seat.
I slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather sending a shiver up my spine. My breath formed little clouds in front of me as I inserted the key into the ignition.
“Please, please, please,” I whispered, turning the key.
The engine sputtered and died. My heart sank.
“Come on, baby, just one more time,” I pleaded, turning the key again. The engine whined but didn’t catch.
